


In Retrospect

by realismandromance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family, Friendship, Gen, Godric's Hollow, Male Protagonist, One Shot Collection, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realismandromance/pseuds/realismandromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘It had taken days to shake the feeling that something was wrong from his weary brain; even now, he could scarcely make himself relax, stop himself from constantly looking behind.’ Five one-shots about Harry, complete with an overarching theme. The settings range from the middle of Deathly Hallows to several years after the war.</p><p>1) Harry's thoughts after Ron's departure in DH.<br/>2) Alone in the tent, Harry and Hermione reminisce about the Time-Turner.<br/>3) The trio return to the place of Harry's 'death'.<br/>4) Harry visits Dudley at Privet Drive after the war.<br/>5) Harry returns Teddy to Andromeda after a day out together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abandoned

Harry had woken, that morning after, with the foolish idea that if he kept his eyes shut and refused to face the music, then Ron would still be in the tent with him and Hermione. Of course, it was not the truth. Ron had left, and the only thing to do was soldier on, pretending that nothing had changed, when everything had.

At breakfast, Hermione's eyes were red and puffy. He wondered uneasily if she hadn't slept, and had simply cried for most of the night, and felt again a strong pulse of anger towards Ron. What was he thinking, leaving them like this, abandoning a job he had committed to? But then again, that was Ron, thought Harry savagely. He never  _did_  think.

 _It might not have been entirely Ron,_  said a voice inside his head.  _He was wearing the locket ... you know how it affected you ..._

If he didn't lie to himself ... well, Harry didn't know what to think. He had never believed Ron capable of leaving them. He had thought Ron's insecurities and jealousy were well behind him, but now it seemed that he'd been wrong. Hermione had stayed, but without Ron, Harry found himself listless and distracted. It became increasingly harder each day to summon the energy needed to seize control of their situation and continue with the daily necessities for his and Hermione's survival. And now it was days later, and he was still no closer to resolving his thoughts concerning Ron than he had been that night. He was sitting in the tent while Hermione kept watch, but there was nothing to distract him from his own thoughts, and, as hard as he tried, he could not stop Ron's words from echoing in his head:

_'I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something ... We thought you knew what you were doing! We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!'_

Ron was an idiot, Harry thought irritably; didn't he think that he, Harry, felt the same way? As much as he had said, after Dumbledore's death, that he'd rather go it alone, because it was dangerous and not their burden to bear, he knew he couldn't survive without Ron and Hermione. They were the pillars holding him up, keeping him clinging on from day to day, and now that Ron was gone, Harry did not know if he could stand.

_'I get it. You choose him.'_

But that was wrong, because in Harry's mind, it had never been about him and Ron competing for Hermione's affection. He and Hermione were friends, that was all, and although he knew that both Ron and Hermione had liked the other for a long time, he had always assumed they were a little slow on the uptake. As for Hermione, Harry was absolutely sure that she had never seen him as anything more than a friend ... a brother-figure, maybe, but nothing else. Was this whole imagined rivalry what had been the last straw for Ron - Ron, who had five older brothers, who knew what it was like to be pushed aside and forgotten? A knot in the pit of his stomach, he recalled the only other time he and Ron had stopped talking.

_'Look, it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault, I know you don't ask for it ... but - well - you know, Ron's got all these brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous - he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many ...'_

Why was it, when he was grappling with thoughts difficult to realise, the voice of reason inside his head was always Hermione's? Because she always had the answers, he knew. But Hermione couldn't answer the question of when they would ever see Ron again (if they ever would), and on what terms.

He's gone, Harry told himself firmly. And he knew, though he hardly wanted to admit it (even to himself) that Ron could never come back. They had moved, and their protective charms made it impossible for anyone else to locate them. He couldn't forget Ron, couldn't forgive him ... but still, when it was his turn to guard the tent, he couldn't help hoping, hoping ...

And then, in the Forest of Dean, one night following Christmas, a silver doe led him to a frozen lake and a glittering sword, and when he dived into the pool and almost suffocated from the Horcrux around his neck, the impossible happened. Ron returned, saved Harry's life, destroyed the Horcrux and instilled in Harry a renewed energy and a sense of purpose that the months previous had been lacking. Harry and Ron hardly spoke about Ron's departure. They didn't need to; because, when it came down to it, Ron had returned, and that was all that mattered.


	2. Wishful Thinking

It was the sound of Hermione's gentle footfalls that jolted Harry out of his half-sleep. Jerking upright, he tried to make it look as though he was alert as he should have been.

'If you're that tired, maybe you should go to bed and let me take over,' she said, peering down at him. Even in the feeble light, Harry could see dark circles under her eyes. Had she got much sleep? If he was tired, he was sure that she was even more so.

'I'm fine,' he said hastily. 'Dunno about you, though. I can keep going; you get some more rest.'

To his surprise, Hermione did not leave.

'I'll stay here and keep you awake,' she said, settling herself beside him and resting her head on his shoulder. 'I couldn't sleep, anyway; I kept waking up, hearing noises and thinking -' She stopped abruptly, as if she'd been Silenced, but they both knew what she had been going to say.

A thick silence descended.

'I was thinking about the Time-Turner,' Harry said. He  _had_  been thinking about it - it wasn't a lie - but he mostly said it to change the subject. 'You used it loads of times, didn't you? Didn't anything ever go wrong?'

'Professor McGonagall wouldn't have let me use it if it had been faulty,' said Hermione. 'And I was always careful to make sure nobody would see me disappear from nowhere.'

'You didn't think to go back in time to get yourself some extra sleep?' (This was a long-standing joke between him and Ron.)

'I was only supposed to use it for lessons,' Hermione said severely. She lifted her head, but Harry could see that she wasn't annoyed. He felt a bit more cheerful; a Hermione who could take a joke was an improvement over the last few weeks. And then he realised that a Harry who could tell jokes was another.

'In movies, people always end up doing something spectacular when they use time travel,' said Harry, trying to keep Hermione's spirits up. 'Like in this movie I watched when I was a kid. In it, this boy travelled back in time and almost erased himself from existence.' He didn't add that he had only been able to see it because Aunt Petunia had been busy and Dudley too fond of the television to get up and chase Harry away from it.

'Was it  _Back to the Future_?'

'I dunno, do I? I was only about nine or ten.'

'Did he accidentally stop his parents from falling in love and then have to play matchmaker to get them back?'

'Yeah, that's it.'

'That's  _Back to the Future_ ,' said Hermione, with the air of having just solved a great mystery. 'But it's terribly unrealistic, really. Time-Turners can't go back more than a few hours, and it's a stable time loop - you can only change what has already happened.' She sounded almost like her old self, confident and bossy.

'Too bad we destroyed them all at the Ministry, then?'

'When you think about it, we did do something spectacular with the Time-Turner,' said Hermione softly. 'We saved Sirius and Buckbeak, and you saved us from the Dementors.'

'And let Wormtail go free,' Harry added bitterly.

'But you  _know_  there's nothing you could have done.'

'Yeah, but still ...'

Hermione gave a small smile. Harry, noticing this, said, 'Do you remember how furious Snape was when he found out Sirius escaped?'

'And when you cast a fully-formed Patronus?'

'You didn't seem to enjoy riding Buckbeak much.'

'You know I've never liked flying.'

The conversation lulled, and the two of them settled into a comfortable silence. Hermione stifled a yawn and laid her head on Harry's shoulder again, breathing deeply.

'You OK?' Harry asked. 'You sure you don't want to get some rest?'

'I'll stay here for a bit,' she said, and cast a charm so that a layer of warm air separated them from the cool of the forest. If one of them fell asleep, the other would know - but neither did. Instead, they just sat together in the stillness, Hermione's wand in Harry's hand as he kept watch.


	3. The Threshold

It had been the understanding beyond words that had compelled Ron and Hermione to follow Harry out of the Great Hall a week after the final battle. Perhaps they knew what he had to do, perhaps they only guessed. But as Harry's footsteps led them down the hill outside the castle and into the Forbidden Forest, none of the three said anything at all.

Harry was sure he didn't have the energy to speak. Part of him was relieved that he was making this journey - he needed nothing more than closure at this moment - but the other part was fiercely apprehensive. What would he see when he got there? Would it open up more wounds than it closed?

It seemed a remarkably quick journey for what had taken an age as he'd walked to his death with his parents, Sirius and Lupin by his side. He didn't say anything, but scanned the trees, looking for the place. His recollection of that night was so firmly etched in his mind that he did not believe he could ever forget. Soon enough, they broke into a small clearing, much like any other but for the memory of what had happened there. Harry moved to the place where he'd stood, and fixed his eyes on the place where Voldemort had been. Had it really been only a week?

'Is this where -' began Hermione, in a hushed voice.

'Yes,' said Harry. When Ron still looked confused, he elaborated. 'This is where I died.' He shrugged, trying to be light-hearted about it all. It seemed so long ago, the night in which he'd prepared himself for death, not wanting in his heart to die, but doing it because there was no choice, because it was the right thing to do, because he would never be able to live with himself if he let everyone else die instead of him. Emotions running high, he'd waited for death, had been hit by the curse ... and then death had been snatched from between his very fingertips. And it was this very place, this exact spot. This was the threshold, the stepping-stone between life and death, visions and reality. He had not begged for death, not tried to flee from it, but had come towards it with a cold bravery and greeted it as an old friend. He had wondered, countless times, why he still lived and others, ones far more worthy of this magnifient gift of life than he, did not. He had yet to come up with an answer.

'Harry?' It was Hermione who spoke, and Ron who put a steady hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Are you OK?'

'I'm all right,' he told them. It was the truth. It had taken days to shake the feeling that something was wrong from his weary brain; even now, he could scarcely make himself relax, stop himself from constantly looking behind. There was no reason to look behind anymore. Voldemort was gone, and the only way onwards was forwards.

Yes, for the first time in a long time, he felt truly all right. Someday, too, the pain from the deaths of Lupin and Tonks, Fred and Colin would pass, to be replaced by understanding - and then, eventually, acceptance. Dumbledore had once said that understanding was the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance could there be recovery.

'Dumbledore always knew what he was talking about,' he murmured.

'What's that, mate?' Ron said, but Harry could hear Hermione shushing him.

Harry remained silent, just thinking. The sacredness of this place had dimmed in his mind. He was sure he could sleep now, without the flash of green light invading his dreams and causing him to wake up, sweating and shaking, to Ron's concerned face. The long day was over; this was the morning.

Ron and Hermione had not strayed from behind him all this while, and it gave him immense strength just to know that they were there, that they were with him no matter what. They were the ones who had stayed with him from the very beginning, who had sometimes wavered and doubted, but always stuck by his side, until the very end.

His hand rose to the scar on his forehead. It hadn't ached for a week ... would never ache again. There were some things he missed. That was not one of them. Neither, he realised, with a burst of clarity, was this place in the Forest, or the memories it held. He could never come back here in his life, and he would not miss it. Not anymore.

'C'mon,' he said to Ron and Hermione. 'Let's go.' Without another word, they turned and left, the crunch of their footfalls the only sound they heard as they made their way up the castle.


	4. Painfully Abnormal

It wasn't a conscious decision that found Harry returning to Surrey after the war. He'd told the others that he needed some time to himself - which was true - and had Apparated to the park near Privet Drive, whereupon he spent half an hour walking the five-minute stretch to number four, and another ten minutes just standing outside it.

He vaguely remembered hearing from someone in the Order that the Dursleys had moved back to Privet Drive in late May. Hermione had asked him tentatively what he was going to do about it, if anything, and he hadn't answered because he hadn't known. It was where he'd spent the majority of his life, and yet he felt no attachment to it. He'd thought he could go without visiting it ever again, but apparently something had drawn him back to the place he'd never wanted to call home. It had been a stifling, restricting household, one in which he'd been painfully abnormal among people whose greatest desire was to be normal. No, it wasn't nostalgia ... a sort of reckless, come-what-may attitude had brought him here, but it had gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him stranded.

'Harry!'

He started; he had not thought that anyone was home, and yet here was Dudley, standing on the front steps of number four and grinning broadly.

'Blimey, I thought it was you!' said Dudley, striding forwards and reaching out to shake Harry's hand. 'Are you OK? You've been standing outside for ten minutes. Did you get my letter, then?'

'I ... er ... yeah,' said Harry, taken aback. He had indeed received a letter addressed to 'Harry Potter', again courtesy of an Order member. He thought it was perhaps the strangest note he'd ever received, and that was including fanmail:

> _Harry,_
> 
> _We moved back into 4 Privet Drive a few months ago, with the help of some of the wizards who kept us in hiding and gave us a place to stay. Our old place had gone up for auction, but they managed to get it back for us - I won't ask how._
> 
> _Look, I won't blame you if you never want to speak to me again, but I just wanted to say that anytime you might decide to drop by, you'll be welcome. Mum and Dad go out most Sunday afternoons, if you'd rather not meet them. I know it wasn't exactly the happiest place for you, but could you please just think about it?_
> 
> _Dudley_

'... Harry?' Something that sounded oddly like concern was in Dudley's voice. 'Is - is anything wrong? Look, if this is about when we were kids, I -'

'Can I come in?' Harry asked, cutting Dudley off. Dudley did not hesitate.

'Sure,' he said easily, and led the way. The interior of the house was much the same as Harry remembered - he thought Aunt Petunia must have wanted to erase every thought of the war from memory. He couldn't help glancing at the cupboard under the stairs as they passed.

'You know,' said Dudley, once they were seated at the table, with steaming cups of tea between them (Harry was irresistibly reminded of the one he'd stepped on a year ago), 'I wasn't expecting you to come back.'

'You know what?' said Harry. 'Me neither.' Dudley's attitude was nothing short of bizzare - Harry could not understand why he looked so pleased to see him. Wasn't it Harry who had forced them to go into hiding, after all?

'Where're you staying now?' asked Dudley, as if he had read Harry's mind.

'My godfather's old place. It's in London.'

'And did you ... lose anyone in the war?'

Harry's head snapped up. 'Why do you care?' he burst out.

'I just - look, you don't know how it was,' Dudley said desperately. 'They took us to a safe house, and we were staying with other kids. Most of them had non-magic parents, I dunno what you call that -'

'Muggle-borns.'

'Yeah. But whenever the others came in with information, they always told the others, never us. Dad told them to piss off whenever they tried. Mum - well, she acted like she didn't care, but I heard her asking after you once, when she thought I wasn't listening. They were kind of surprised, I guess. Seemed to think she wouldn't bother.' He looked at Harry closely.

'I never really said anything,' Harry answered with difficulty. 'Dumbledore - the wizard who came here two years ago - knew some of it, I dunno how. But it wasn't exactly a secret, either. Loads of people at Hogwarts knew we didn't get along, even if they didn't know the whole story. Stuff like that always gets out ...'

'When you're famous?'

'Yeah.'

'What about you?' Harry asked.

'What about me?'

'What did you do while you were in hiding?'

'I dunno how I found out, but I did,' said Dudley. 'They said you were on the run from - well, they wouldn't say his name -'

'Voldemort.'

'Yeah, him. There was this undercover radio station they kept listening to, with secret passwords and all that. I remember it was named after you. One time, we heard rumours that you'd been captured, but you must have got away somehow. They kept dashing in and out of the place one night in May, it was mad. And then we got the news - that the war was over because you'd let yourself be killed, then came back to life and defeated the evil bloke.' He glanced at Harry's face and faltered. 'That - that is right, isn't it?'

'Er ...' It felt strange to smile, and yet Harry could not seem to stop. 'Close enough.' He didn't think he'd ever heard Dudley say so much to him without finishing it with an insult or a threat.

'You  _are_  OK, right?' Dudley pressed.

Harry nodded, taking a long draught of his tea.

Dudley looked uncomfortable. 'I know we weren't friends, but d'you think we could try? I just want to say ... I heard a lot about you while we were in that place. About that secret chamber, and the school tournament ...' He swallowed. 'And I found out who that Cedric bloke was.'

Harry wanted to say coolly, 'Did you, now?' - but he couldn't do it. He knew what it had been like for Dudley to find out that a person he had lived with for years had horrors in his past that were kept secret from him, not out of shame, but because it was a deeply personal issue. He'd experienced the same thing with Neville Longbottom. But he himself had never made fun of Neville or put him on the spot concerning his parents. He could only imagine how much worse Dudley must feel.

'It's OK,' he said sincerely. 'I know what you mean.'

'Do you?' Dudley became visibly more relaxed. 'Listen, I'm sorry for all the stuff I did when we were kids. I was an idiot and a prat and -' They were words that Harry had often dreamed of making Dudley say, yet he gained no satisfaction from hearing them.

'It's fine,' he found himself saying - and then, when Dudley did not look convinced, added, 'Really.'

They talked for several hours - one of the first civil conversations they'd ever had, stopping only when Harry glanced at the clock above the kitchen window.

'I've got to go,' he said, almost regretfully. 'My girlfriend's coming to dinner tonight, and I -'

'You have a girlfriend?'

'Er ... yeah.' Harry suddenly realised how little he really knew about Dudley. It was possible to live with someone for nearly all your childhood and most of your life and never get to know them, he thought. 'Her name's Ginny.'

'Wait!' cried Dudley, jumping up and following Harry to the door. 'This was really cool - can we do it again? Next week, maybe? Mum and Dad'll be here on Saturday if ...'

'Yeah,' said Harry. 'I'll keep in touch. See you later, Big D.' And he turned on the spot and Disapparated, enjoying the impressed look on Dudley's face as Harry vanished from sight.


	5. The Gift of a Day

It was late evening by the time Harry brought five-year-old Teddy back to Andromeda's place. Teddy had been wriggling and giggling all afternoon, but on the way home, he'd begged to be carried and had fallen asleep in Harry's arms. Now a dead weight with bright blue hair, Harry had to shift him several times so that he could use the door knocker.

'I've brought him back,' he said, when Andromeda opened the door. She smiled when she saw them.

'Tire him out, did you?'

'He tired himself out,' protested Harry, surrendering Teddy into her arms and rubbing his own aching ones. 'I took him the zoo and he couldn't stop looking at all the brightly-coloured parrots, and then they flew away, and I had to catch him ... Same time on Tuesday?'

Andromeda nodded. 'Thank you, Harry. It's ... it's hard raising him sometimes, with only me, you know ... I'm just glad he's growing up safe and happy.'

'No problem,' Harry said, thinking of another boy who'd been orphaned at a young age, but had been starved for love, not surrounded by loving relation and godfather. 'See you later.'


End file.
